


Beginnings

by 8ball



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M, fic from zosan zine!, like 500 words of soft zosan and nothing much else baby, prompt: spring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ball/pseuds/8ball
Summary: There’s something wedded to the taste of spring, like the afterburn of an image or an echo of a word, and it makes Zoro think of Kuina. It's the coolness of the night in contrast to the way the flowers are only just starting to bloom in the day, and he remembers those evenings in the grass, flat on his back learning the exact feeling of defeat. Tasting like rust and dirt and his sensei’s green tea, long gone cold.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 14
Kudos: 216





	Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> the fic I made for the zosan season zine! My prompt was Spring!

  
  


There’s something wedded to the taste of spring, like the afterburn of an image or an echo of a word, and it makes Zoro think of Kuina. It's the coolness of the night in contrast to the way the flowers are only just starting to bloom in the day, and he remembers those evenings in the grass, flat on his back learning the exact feeling of defeat. Tasting like rust and dirt and his sensei’s green tea, long gone cold. 

But it's different on the Grand Line, and he’s ancient compared to then. Spring islands aren't as common, and often have quiet, small villages attached that rarely interest Luffy. Everyone latches onto those islands though, eating up the delicate peace like they can't get enough, reliving a walk through their own tiny islands in the East Blue.

The cook, only recently joined, takes this information like a gift.

“I think I get it then. If you grew up in a place like this…”

He never finishes that thought, and Zoro leaves it up in the air. He’s not willing to spoil the beauty of the place by reminding this strange, new nakama of how alone they’d all been, and destitute on top of that. The swordsman’s leaning who Sanji is in snippets, through hand gestures the man makes unconsciously and phrases he slips in without a second thought, and Zoro’s come to the conclusion that the new cook is complicated in a lot of ways. He talks about growing up on a ship, and so this concept of island living is strange and nearly exotic to his sea legs, and he can't quite imagine what it would be like to be a child running on solid ground. Those aren't things Sanji says exactly, but they’re things Zoro reads off his expression. 

They leave those gentle spring islands soon enough, and usually they’re forgotten in favor of the next adventure. But sometimes Zoro thinks of Sanji and the way he had looked around, the concept of saplings and rose buds so baffling, so immense. 

-oOo-

And so they gravitate towards each other come the next spring island. And then the next. And then it becomes tradition, because Zoro is a simple man with a singular desire, and Sanji seems to share that desire. The desire being to spend time together without fighting for once, without doing anything really, just figuring each other out one cobblestoned path at a time. 

On an island where the freshly sprouted grass is blue instead of green, Zoro tells him about the dojo and his sensei and hints at a person who is no longer there. He points out an oak tree that's thicker than Merry’s mast, and impresses the cook by saying confidently (but fasly) that it’s 43 years old. 7 islands later it's spring again, and Sanji kicks at gravel and reminisces about his 12th birthday and getting his first suit, finally growing out of a body where he could count his ribs too clearly. It's kind of beautiful, Zoro thinks, and then rethinks because  _ Sanji _ is kind of beautiful, and that's not actually a very new thought. 

3 islands later, they’re walking through a bursting forest of something similar to cherry blossoms, and Sanji asks “Is this a date?”

Zoro looks at him and realizes, suddenly, that he wants to hold Sanji’s hand very badly. So he says “Yes.” and does exactly that. 

(This tradition also continues.) 

-oOo-

A well-worn white picket fence kind of town later, accompanied by an picnic, basket and all hanging from Sanji’s elbow, and it hits Zoro with great force:

Sanji isn't kind of beautiful at all, because he’s exceptionally beautiful. It wasn't a creeping kind of beauty that he only just registered either, it was more like Zoro had finally just- opened his eyes. And there Sanji was, astounding and uncomprehendingly lovely, standing in the town square of pine-wood buildings. Maybe it’s his smile, the way it opens up his face and makes him glow like someone flicked a switch. It nearly brings Zoro to his knees, weighing on his shoulders like the firm press of hands, because how had such a man been by his side this whole time? How had Zoro not noticed he had been falling in love so gradually, so easily? 

They get through half the picnic before the alarms go off, someone yelling about pirates, someone else threatening to call the marines. Hiding in the in-between shadows of two houses, Zoro leans in and kisses Sanji like he’s never kissed him before, like he’s never kissed  _ anyone  _ before, desperate with such newfound knowledge that his heart is beating to Sanji’s rhythm. 

-oOo-

“Do you think-” Sanji cuts himself off, for the third, fifth, hundredth time. The swordsman doesn't press, mostly because he’s too comfortable in the sun-warmed grass, Sanji’s soft hair tickling his chin and the man’s weight settled over him like a blanket. Sanji will find his own words when he wants to, and in the meantime Zoro will run his fingers down that pale neck, playing with the notion of leaving bite marks on that skin. 

“It’s just- it's a lot, right? This?”

Zoro hasn’t quite mastered the art of untangling Sanji’s thoughts yet, but he’s working on it. The cook tends to weave the simplest things into the most impossible tangles, especially if it's something he’s enjoying. It was funny at first, watching the way Sanji would clearly enjoy a local dish but refuse to  _ indulge _ . Allowing himself one bite, no more, only to longingly stare down at something he could so clearly have, but  _ didn't _ . It wasn't funny anymore, because Zoro was starting to grasp that this concept of self-discipline extended much further into dangerous territory, but again, he wasn't willing to push the man. 

“It is a lot.” Zoro settled on, thinking about the last spring island, walking by Sanji’s side for hours without saying a word, so ridiculously content with just that. “Do you want less?”

“Of course not.” Is Sanji’s blessedly quick reply, voice causing a small vibration on the skin of Zoro’s throat where his lips nearly collide. 

“Then what's the problem?”

The cook doesn't answer that right away, and it makes Zoro a bit nervous. That love that he’d admitted to only recently was only growing island by island, day by day, and it was a terrible thing to consider what they had ending. But Sanji’s hand tangles firmly in his shirt, grounding their connection. 

“I guess there isn't one.” He murmurs, this time directly onto Zoro’s skin, finally kissing just below his jaw with a terrifying gentleness. It feels like there's something further unspoken, but the grass around them makes the air smell so sweet, and it's the easiest thing in the world to close his eyes while Sanji works his way up, mouth meeting his in a soft, perfect match.

_ We’re nakama, we’re in love, this is a spring island _ . It's all so absurdly simple.  _ What could the problem even be? _

He still holds on a little tighter, just in case. 

-oOo-

For a long time it's easy, even when it's not, and even on Drum where the wind cuts through them the cherry blossom lights remind Zoro that spring islands aren't common, but the impression of them exists in Sanji’s skin. 

Usopp leaves and Robin disappears, and that's the real test of it all. When Sanji starts talking about how people leave and people go, like this whole time he hadn't expected anything different. And he says it when he looks at Zoro, those words  _ people leave _ and  _ people go _ . It makes Zoro angry, because the implication of either of  _ them _ leaving is ridiculous. As if Zoro could ever leave Luffy, and as if he was capable of ever leaving Sanji now. 

It sticks with him, all through retrieving Robin, because even after Usopp apologizes and returns, Zoro still catches the way Sanji just  _ stares _ at them. So he takes the cook up to the crows nest, pristine and private, and he holds him down with the weight of his own body, holding him steady, holding him close. Whispering,  _ Sanji, I love you _ until it fills up the whole space, sweat dampened skin under Zoro’s tongue like a sweet drug. 

-oOo-

Thriller Bark is no spring island, and there sure as hell aren't any sweet kisses among flowers there. When he eventually wakes up, feeling like someone tried to make scrambled eggs out of his insides, it's a long time coming before he even gets the blonde alone.

“People leave.” Sanji says, like an old song, like a mantra, like a curse. He’s got two crushed cigarette buds in the ashtray by his side, looking like he’s ready for a funeral. 

“I didn't go anywhere.” Which is the truth, but doesn't seem to appease the cook any amount. 

“You tried to.” And with that Sanji leaves, just walks away to go burn up somewhere else, and Zoro lets him. Sometimes Sanji is a fire that’s so hot Zoro’s got no choice but to give him space, so that’s what he does. 

There's no spring island between then and Sarbaody though, and that's a tragedy in it's own right. 

-oOo-

Two years is a long time until it's not, and it's like all that accumulated separation gets swept under the rug once they’re back together. It’s a tough lesson, but at the end of it Zoro’s come to learn to cherish Sanji just a little more, to hold him just a little tighter, kiss him once a day (minimum). It’s overwhelming at first, because they both can't get enough of each other, and it's a challenge to remember how they ever went through a normal day without succumbing to such strong desires of simply being in each other’s presence. 

Zoro is- happy. And he thinks Sanji is happy too, and he can't help but grin when their eyes meet, thinking  _ this is good _ . He’d never expected to find love and have it align so neatly with pursuing his dream, and it's an amazing thing really. The entire crew isn't shy about pointing it out either, Nami making obvious, teasing comments that leave the cook fumbling and Usopp snickering. They sleep in the galley on Sanji’s extra futon, or up in the crow’s nest on Zoro’s, and they wrap around each other in a perfect fit. 

On the way to Dressrosa they stop at a spring island with an abandoned town at its center. Sanji takes Zoro’s hand and leads them both down a barely visible path, singing April rain, April rain, go on and sweep me up.

-oOo-

Sanji’s back is curved in a deep hunch when Zoro finally sees him again, his slim figure shadowed under the blooming trees. Even though the cook is covered with bruises and raw shame he’s still ridiculously handsome, and it pisses the swordsman off. 

He’d been in a daze, going to Wano without the cook or Luffy, and the  _ reason _ . There’d been just enough time to be shocked and hurt and angry, but Zoro wasn't at the point of forgiveness yet. Or he told himself that, even as he approached Sanji under the shade. 

“People leave, huh?” He says in way of greeting, feeling a combination of shame and satisfaction at the way the cook flinches. 

“People also come back.” Sanji says quietly, meeting Zoro’s eye in a determined way. Zoro brushes a long, gold strand of hair out of his face. 

“ _ Nakama _ come back.” Zoro corrects. Finally, Sanji smiles. 

“So do idiots in love.”

So they kiss, because Zoro can't  _ not _ kiss him, and maybe that makes them both idiots in love. Zoro keeps on kissing him because he can't quite bear Sanji’s beauty, the way his face is soft in a kind way but it's wedded to something so heartbreaking beneath all that smooth grace. It’s easier for them both to close their eyes to that kind of sadness and fall into each other instead, leaves rusting above them. 

Wano is an island of all seasons, but under the newborn leaves and in Zoro’s arms, Sanji tastes like spring. 

-oOo-

Zoro waits until they’ve sailed far away, shed their fake names, removed Wano from their skin like bandages as the injuries finally healed. And even then it's not the first, or the second, but the third spring island they get to where he places himself before Sanji with a ring offered up on his palm. It’s raining, but in the light, gentle way that comes with the season, and the damp curls the hair at Sanji’s neck and washes them both so clean and open. 

“You know what spring means?” The cook asks softly, twisting the thin gold band around his finger, his back pressed against Zoro’s chest. The swordsman hums, brushing a kiss to the elegant curve of Sanji’s throat. He can't bring himself to think of what spring may or may not mean, only that right then he had a man so beautiful and unyielding settled in his hold, wearing promise on his hand. 

“It means beginnings.” He whispers, blue eyes catching Zoro’s and connecting like a lock. Sanji’s smiling now, so fucking  _ radient _ , and Zoro wonders if the man has any idea how exquisite he is, drenched in the glow of his own happiness. 

“I love you.” Is all Zoro can respond with, blinded by him. He lets his eyes fall back to the ring, catching the light like Sanji’s hair.

_ Begins, beginnings,  _ he thinks.  _ Me and you. _

A flower bud kisses Wado’s hilt, only just starting to bloom. 

  
  
  



End file.
